


Don't Say Goodbye

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-21
Updated: 2005-10-20
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7093348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of reaction fics to Wesley's death - and yes, eventually I make it to Wes/Faith though it takes some time and it's a bit odd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Won't Be Long Now

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

I saw this coming. 

Really I did. 

And though no one would believe me, I really hoped it wouldn't. 

Don't get me wrong... I'm no big fan of Twiggy or the Vampire, but I have a soft spot for a certain ex-Watcher who tried to get me out of my contract. Not that I wanted him to or anything, but you know it's kind of sweet in a do-gooder sort of way. 

Seeing it coming is why for the last few centuries of time down here - which only equates to a few months in LA - I've been brokering deals, arguing that we should have proprietary rights even without the contract, and pulling in every favor I can for one purpose. 

You'd think someone who wouldn't sign his soul over would get some leeway, would get a little understanding. That even at his darkest, he's always done what he had to do, always done what he thought was the right thing - although sometimes in the wrong way, would carry some weight. 

Nope. 

The powers aren't even looking at the raw deal they handed him. How many lemons exactly did they hand him before he finally ran out of sugar and couldn't make lemonade anymore? 

The fact is the closest thing to real love he's ever had is me. I don't count Twiggy - a week and a half of having the woman you've dreamt of love you back to loose her isn't love, its torture. I had parents who loved me, a good life, even relationships and lovers before Wesley; I've got no excuse for how I turned out. Him, with his parents and the lousy breaks he's been handed, it's a wonder he didn't lose it way before when he did. 

And there's no one going to try to bring him back either - even if that little Witch from Sunnydale would do something like that again, they wouldn't care enough to do it for Wesley - not with them playing holier than thou just because Angel and little band took over Wolfram and Hart. They'd probably think he went where he should have. 

Hell, when it depresses me thinking about his funeral, you have to know it's bad. Wesley took care of me himself and since he's the only person I gave a damn about, I feel pretty good about that. Wes will be lucky if one of the vampires show up to pay their respects. 

You know what they say; the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I can't save him - he's been consigned to hell. For all of the 'evil' he's perpetrated. Even if I could I don't know that I would change that. Not like I'd get anything out of it. 

I did, however, do what I'd set out to do - get him assigned to our little corner of hell. He wasn't at first, he was all set for a hell of his own making but I figure he's better off here, where we get some perks, and it's not all torture. 

Not that I expect him to thank me. 

So now I'm waiting for what I've been expecting to happen. It won't be long now and we'll see each other again.


	2. Respects

Disclaimer: Joss owns 'em. He killed 'em - we're just picking up the pieces.

Archiving: Wherever, just tell me where it's going so I can visit it.

Pairing: None

***

"'ello mate." The blonde vampire settles down on the newly packed sod as he takes a pull from the open bottle of Jack Daniels. "Sorry I couldn't be out and about when they put you down here."

Tracing the lines of the familiar name carved in the white marble, Spike shakes his head. "Did you 'ear all the weepin' and wailin' going on beside you, mate?" He looks towards Charles Gunn's plot not far away. "I weren't far off - in that crypt over there. They were going on like he's the only one. Not even like he had anything to do with them anymore." Cutting himself off by taking another drink, he shakes his head.

"I would have thought Angel might have at least come tonight, but I don't think he's up to another funeral - not after the Prom Queen's. At least Lorne shoulda come or your Slayer." Spike frowns as he takes another drink. "Or the. coulda. but you probably wouldn't have appreciated that anyway would you, mate?"

Silence fills the cemetery, not that Spike is expecting an answer. "I know I'm prolly the last person you'd have expected but we were countrymen, at least, and you were alright for an ex-Watcher. Didn't seem right for no one to come and pay their respects. For no one to mark your passing. Its cold comfort, but you're a hero, mate. More than me or the bloody poof. You fought the good fight and got nothing out of it. Not even any friends or family to see you off."

"You're right. He did." The familiar yet unexpected voice draws Spike's attention, his gaze shooting up from the patch of ground he'd been studying.

A frown marks the vampire's face as he struggles to stand; moving in front of Wesley's grave stone as if he could protect him from the older Watcher. Not that he needed protecting now, or in recent memory. "Lowered yourself to come and make certain he's dead did you?" Spike set aside the bottle and reaches into his pocket to pull out a package of smokes. "How'd you find out? I didn't think the poof would call you. Did his Da send you as his errand boy?"

Arching his brow at the disdainful tone the vampire is taking with him, but somehow feeling like he almost deserves it, Giles shakes his head. "Faith. Faith called. She wanted to know if I felt it when Buffy died. She wasn't sure if she was just hallucinating, so she didn't want to call any of you first."

Taking a drag on the cigarette, the vampire nods. "Then why isn't she here? Or is that the way all Slayers treat their Watchers. Without a bit o' respect."

"A demon is trying to open the Hellmouth or I'm certain she would be here." Giles responds evenly, not rising to Spike's bait. "Besides, she and Wesley have never been close. Even still I think she'll come when she can."

"Aside from the torture and the like. Yet she still felt him go." Spike smirks then shakes his head again, before holding out the open bottle of whiskey to the other man. "At least have a drink for 'im then."

Giles nods and takes the bottle from the vampire's hand, tipping the bottle up and swallowing, without giving himself time to think. "In the end, I think they were more alike than either of them would have liked to admit."

"'Cept she's alive and he's dead." Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Spike sizes Giles up. "I know why you're 'ere, Watcher. You know you'll end up the same way and so will I."

"Same way?" Giles takes another drink, purposefully acting ignorant of what the vampire is saying.

"Dying, alone and unmourned, with no one to tend our graves." Spike supplies watching the older man's eyes. "I'm a vampire so I won't have a grave, but I know no one's gonna spare me a kind thought no matter how long I do right and you. You have Buffy and her lot, but they still forget you more often than not." He sees that he's right by the expression on Giles's face. "Figured they had to be, for you to be paying enough attention to Andrew to train 'em." He adds not unkindly. "Forgot about us all with 'er new boyfriend, eh? This 'Immortal' bloke. She doesn't learn does she?"

Giles swirls the amber liquor in its bottle, his gaze following its path. He knows the vampire is including him in the us, that Spike knows his feelings for Buffy as well as he does, one of the blonde menaces more annoying abilities, his ability to read people - but this time he welcomes it, welcomes the bit of kinship he feels. "No, she doesn't."

The silence envelopes them once again, until Spike holds out his hand for the bottle, closing his fingers around it as Giles hands it to him, "Time to say goodbye to one of our own then." He pauses and holds the bottle up. "Not that I knew you very long, but even I could see you deserved a good sight better than you got." He takes a drink and then hands the bottle back to Giles.

Bowing his head for a moment, contemplating what he should say and deciding there is too much that could be said; Giles raises the bottle and fixes his gaze in the amber depths again. "Wesley, you deserved better than I treated you and I'm sorry." He takes a drink and hands the bottle back to Spike.

"Not much else to say than that is there?" Spike steps back from the grave, then upends the bottle, letting the rest of the whiskey pour out on the grass, then shoves the bottle into his jacket and looks at the Watcher before holding out his hand. "Goodbye Giles."

Looking at the vampire's hand for a moment, hesitating, he reaches out and takes it. Connecting with a man who might have been a friend once. "Goodbye William." He watches as the vampire turns, his coat swirling around him and stalks into the night.

With a final glance at the gravestone, Giles turns and goes back the way he came.


	3. Watcher... Mine?

I felt it happen. 

You nearly got me killed, asshole. 

Here I was defending the Hellmouth from some new demon bastard set on wiping us out. Enjoying myself... Heart pumping, blood singing... And suddenly something inside just went dead. 

And I knew it – you went and died on me you, son of a bitch. 

Damn it, Wesley – how the fuck could you? 

I tried to tell myself it wasn't so... I finished up and ran like a bitch home – telling myself something bad had happened to Wood. He's my Watcher now – I told myself. I got there and he wanted to know what was wrong – making us some kinda fucked up, fancy ass meal. 

I couldn't eat – my stomach felt like it was full of lead. Told him I needed to report in to Giles. 

One long distance call to England later and he didn't have any answers for me either. I could tell by his voice though. He knew I was right – he knew you died. 

Fuck, Wes. How the hell am I supposed to feel about it? You tell me, asshole... You're the fucking Watcher. I tried to kill you once and I still have seizures occasionally from that shit you made me take to bring down Angelus. I suppose I should hate you still... 

I never did tell you I was sorry for what I did to you. 

Damn. 

I got the call from Giles – once he'd gone to LA. Been to your grave. It was weird you know – he gave me his condolences as he told me you'd died like I was your fucking wife or something – not the cold hearted bitch of a Slayer who tortured you once. Asked me `Are you all right?' 

I nearly choked when I tried to say `Five by five'. 

What the fuck was I supposed to say? I mean I'm all right. It's not like I'm gonna cry. Definitely not over god damned Princess Margaret – no matter how much you mighta changed, you bastard. 

You weren't anything to me, asshole. Fuck, I'm not supposed to get emotional over you. 

One more thing in this twisted ass life I'm leading that just had to screw up. 

Wood and I – we're pretty good as lovers, but he wants more yah know... Wants to be my everything... Lover, best friend, Watcher. 

And he knows – knows something's missin'. It's the Watcher thing and he knows it... Don't know how he does – not like he's got any examples to follow, but he does somewhere. He thinks I'm just holding out on him. 

He doesn't know... 

Hell, I didn't know so how could he... 

It's like you trying to be Buffy's Watcher – doomed from the get go. 

How the hell did you do it, Wes? Less than three months with me hating your guts. One night with me torturing the fuck out of you. A few days working together... 

I'm not losin' it over you and those sure as hell aren't tears that are making the ink on this paper run. 

This could be good for me and Wood – maybe now he'll get that missing part... 

Somehow I don't think so though. 

I'm not going to say goodbye... I think we're gonna end up in the same place when all is said and done, no matter what we do. I'll come to LA, sometime soon - leave some flowers or something. Not like you're actually there... I almost feel like I should be there to make sure you don't rise or something, but Spike and Giles probably made sure of that. 

So see you around, Watcher... Mine?


	4. Do Over

Not happening. 

So not happening. 

There is no way in . Anyway, Lilah is *so* not getting Wesley down there with her. 

I don't care what he's done or not done or contemplated doing. If I can forgive him for everything - if Angel can get over it - then they sure as hell can let it go. He's a good man and he's *so* not going there. 

They let Wolfram and Hart wipe out the year from hell - okay, so just the memories from it and now he remembers. Wesley, you're such a dweeb - if you had died not knowing your real memories I could have pleaded this on it not being fair to condemn you for something you didn't remember but *oh no* you *had* to go and mess around with the stupid box. 

Idiot. 

Dweeby, bad kissing, English idiot. 

Okay, so the first two don't count anymore . not really but . you've really cut my work out for me. 

Now it's not on me pleading you out. It's calling in as many favors as I can, making as many promises as I can, and batting these big browns at anyone who'll talk to me. 

Ugh, I'm almost acting like Lilah - except I'm much classier. You *so* owe me for this. 

 

*** 

 

I am too *good*. 

Well, I will be if you agree. 

You will agree - even if I have to brow beat you into doing it. 

I know. I know. Free will. 

But how many second chances can one guy get? 

I see you standing in the waiting area. Bet you're wondering what you're doing there - just blank. Not exactly what you expected is it. 

Stepping out of the light, I turn on one of my brightest 'buy me lunch' smiles, "Hey Wes." 

"Cordelia," you turn to face me looking honestly surprised. "This isn't exactly where I expected to be." 

My smile fades a little, "It's not exactly where you're going to be either." 

That hard look comes across your face, the one that's only been there for the last couple of years. Between this and your prissy bad-kissing self - I think I'd rather have you back to the slimy drool monster you once were. "So then why am I here?" 

"Second chances." I say as I cross to you and take your hands in mine. "I tried - I really did - to convince them to let you come with me. I mean you're one of our soldiers down, right?" I take a deep breath; from the look on his face this isn't going to be an easy sell. He looks so tired, like he just wants to stop. 

"Am I?" He says quietly. 

I punch him in the arm, hard, making him wince and rub it just like when we were alive. "Don't be stupid, Wes. I don't care what they say - you're one of us. Besides I may not have been able to get them to let you come with me - but I got you a do-over." 

"A do-over?" He looks at me suspiciously. Stupid English Watcher upbringing - poor guy doesn't know what a do-over is. 

"A do-over." I say slowly, hoping he might catch on. The bemused absence of understanding continues being his expression and I look up shaking my head. "Geez, thought you might have learned *something* hanging around me for all those year. A do-over, Doofus. Like when you were a little kid." Still no sign of understanding. "You get to go down there and do it again." 

By the dark expression on his face, I can see he's not as enthusiastic about the do-over as I had hoped. "What makes you think I'd do any better this time then I did last time? A flawed soul is a flawed soul." 

I hit him again. "I stacked the odds in your favor, moron. I'm not completely stupid. Besides you are *not* a flawed soul. The powers' favorite punching bag maybe - but not flawed." 

A small chuckle escapes him. "I have missed you, Cordelia." 

"Missed you too, Doofus." I take his arm and lead him over to another part of the area we're in. "Like I said I stacked the odds in your favor," I pause. This is another one of those deal breakers. "But there are some things I can't change." 

"Like?" 

"YouhavetobeaWatcher." I blurt out really fast, hoping he won't notice or something. 

A laugh, a really disturbing laugh escapes him. "Lovely second chance, Cordelia. A second chance to be a failure. Lovely. Do I get to sleep in a closet again?" 

I want to hit him again, but I won't. I know how bad this is for him. My voice softens and I wave my hand in front of us. "No, you don't. Just look and keep an open mind. You'll be making a lot of people happy, Wes." 

 

*** 

 

I don't get back here very often. With all these Slayers, plus the rest of the champions, the Powers tell me I'm not needed here. 

I think it's just because they don't want me here while there are people I am attached to here from my life. 

Of course, when I negotiated for Wesley, I negotiated visiting rights too. 

The only thing is - this is it. He's growing up way too fast and pretty soon he won't know me when he sees me, anymore than anyone else does. I don't think I'd want to come when that happens anyway. 

All my melancholy thoughts are chased away when I see him perched on his father's shoulders as they walk through the midway of the fair. Little smile from ear to ear, sticky hand grabbing a handful of hair of his father's head, a candy apple in the other as he munches. To my pleasant surprise, he's dressed way more fashionably than I would have ever expected either his mother or his father to dress him - Gap Kids, very cool, if common. 

A chuckle escapes me as I hear what his mom and dad are discussing. again. 

"I checked into it, luv. Apparently we were distant cousins." 

"Distant cousins does not explain it, babe. I mean look at you and me. Green eyes, light brown hair. Hazel eyes, blonde hair." 

"You're not a natural blonde; his dark hair could have come from you." 

"Dark brown, not black. And have you looked at his blue eyes?" 

"Do you really care so much?" 

"Nah, actually it's kind of nice. Just a little creepy considering what we named him." 

I watch as Wesley leans down completely unaffected by the conversation and plants a mucky kiss on his mom's hair, much to his dad's delight and his mom's consternation. At least this time the kid has no doubts that his mom and dad love him, no matter who he looks like. 

Of course the looks thing was me. I know it would have been easier if he'd have looked like his parents, but where would be the fun in that. Had to make them all wonder you know. 

I see four more familiar figures crossing the midway to intercept the trio. The one in the lead still makes me tense - she has ever since that night, even though I know she'd never do anything to Wesley now. She's his absolute favorite 'almost' relative - and obviously still is the way he's leaning down from his dad's shoulders to grab hold of her. 

 

"FAITH" 

 

She eases him down onto her hip then takes both his sticky little hands in hers and appropriates a wet nap from his mom to clean them off properly. "Heya Tiger. Ready to train with your Slayer?" 

See this is part of what eased me off on Faith. She's never taken another Watcher after Wesley - after his original life. In fact it broke her and Wood up. Willow split with Kennedy and she lives with Faith in Cleveland - they're not together - together. Willow's not even really Faith's Watcher. They both just still feel like they have a whole bunch of atoning to do I guess and it's easier to do it together. 

"Kay," He says cheerfully as she swings him up onto her shoulders and falls into step with his parents, both of them smiling at one another. He doesn't have perfect grammar this time around thanks to his mom and Faith's influence much to his dad's chagrin. 

Sometimes I think somewhere inside Faith knows who he is. I don't know how she does if that's the case, but this calling Wesley her Watcher thing has been going on since the day he was born. 

"You know, Faith. We really do need to discuss instating a new Watcher for you. The Council." 

"... can bite me. Get enough of you guys together and you're all bureaucracy and crap. Tell you what - you can tell them again, what I've told you to tell them before." 

"You're waiting for my son to grow up. Faith, I truly do hope you've retired before my son actually graduates from the Watcher's program, if he even chooses to be a Watcher." 

"I'm gonna, Da. I'm gonna be Faith's Watcher." He beams down at his father so hard you can't help but smile at him in return. 

"As you say, Wesley." With a shake of his head, his father wisely acquiesces. He's got that stubborn look in his eye and tilt to his chin. 

"Besides which G, you all know I'm waiting on him to grow up so I'll have a reason to retire anyway. I mean he'll be hitting his peak, pretty much when I hit mine." She has that grin on her face that makes you wonder if she's kidding or not. As far as I'm concerned she sure as hell better be. "Come on, Tiger - let's get a head start on training." 

"She's kidding. I'm certain she's kidding. At least I think she's kidding." There's a significant pause. "Let me check." Way to be decisive there, Willow. 

If you hadn't guessed Wesley's new parents are Buffy and Giles - I know, pathetic attempt at making you wonder and honestly I have to brag a little. This wasn't the easiest thing to set up, but Wesley dying and Faith's reaction to Wesley dying made Buffy rethink her little liaison with that Immortal person. So I think it's really kind of right that they're Wesley's parents although still eeiwwww when I think about what they did to make him. My back up plan if Buffy hadn't fallen in line was Faith - so it's probably better all around this way. Otherwise, really, eeiwwwww! 

I can see them both shrug as they look towards Wes and Faith who have already taken up a position at the game booth and have been joined already by Willow. Okay, so looking at the age differences I guess they don't have a leg to stand on. Great now he's growing up thinking dating someone old enough to be your mom or dad is normal. Definite kink in the plan there, Cordelia. 

See, that's Faith and Wesley's definition of training on the fair ground. Find one of those crossbow shoot game, lure the entire family over to play and make the carnie cry. So they've found somewhat socially acceptable ways of exercising their darker sides. Wesley has more stuffed toys than he can reasonably keep in his room - I know last time I was there I was tripping over them. So aside from giving Faith her favorites - something she only admits to Wesley - Giles has convinced him that donating the overflow to Children's Hospitals and Santa's Anonymous is a good thing. 

Of course it's Faith and Wesley's private version of training that will give me my chance to say hi. There's the twang and thwack of bolts hitting bulls eye on every target. Even Dawn and Xander are that good - Xander with no depth perception to speak of, but he's a better shot than he was because now he actually trains. Go figure. 

As I watch Giles and the carnie 'discussing' the prizes, I see Faith and Wesley slip away to a booth a little further down. One of those ones where you shoot the star out with a fake machine gun. Buffy and Giles don't approve. Wes and Faith love guns. Wesley is a crack shot for a six year old. Hence the sneakage. 

Faith picks Wesley up for his turn. This one is giving away those cheesy mirrors with the pictures etched on them. How very Faith. I have to grin when I see the look on the game operators face when the bespectacled 'Harry Potter' looking little kid shoots out the star perfectly with B.B.s to spare. Now it's Faith's turn and she sets Wes down beside her with an admonishment not to wander off. 

This kid's middle name should be curiosity, not Chase - but I'm kinda proud of the latter anyway - so I know he's not going to listen. I see him attracted by the bright lights on another game and that's when I make my move. 

"Hey Wes," I say as I crouch down beside him. 

"'Delia" He says softly as he turns and looks at me with those beautiful bright blue eyes framed by those gorgeous long sooty lashes. It's times like this I remember why I fell for him in the first place. 

"Happy, Doofus?" I ask, already knowing the answer. 

He nods solemnly. He knows too. 

"I gotta go soon and you won't remember me anymore. You let Faith take care of you, take care of everyone here and have a good life." I can feel tears threatening as his little hand comes up to wipe them away. 

"Love you, 'Delia." He says as he wraps his arms around my neck. 

I hold him close. "Love you too, Wesley." I can sense Faith looking for him so I stand up and take his hand, and lead him out to where she'll be able to see us. 

"Where'd you bugger off to Wes.?" I can hear the panic in her voice - not because she's afraid of what Giles and Buffy will say - but because she's actually worried about him. 

"Looking for someone?" I say smiling at her. I see a glimmer of almost recognition in her eyes for a second, but it fades too quickly for her to grasp it. 

Faith jogs over to us. "Don't do that Wes. Your mom'll have me for breakfast if you get lost." She looks up at me. "Thanks. He's always buggering off." Her head cocks to the side. "Do I know you?" 

I shake my head. "No, don't think so. Take care of the little guy." 

"Thanks again. Come on Wes, let's go get the mirrors and you gotta think up an excuse for why we were gone so long." Faith takes his hand and leads him away from me. 

"Bathroom." He says absently as he peers over his shoulder back towards me and waves. I can see him mouth 'Goodbye, Cordelia' just before I wink completely out of sight. 

So that's it. I raise my head proudly. So not going to cry and make my eyes puffy and red. Eventually I hope I'll see him again. If he keeps on the path he is now, I know I will. 

Still, I'm batting a thousand. In one fell swoop I not only gave Wesley a second chance but made him happy, proved Giles wrong - so much for dying alone - and stole something she really, really wanted away from Lilah Morgan. 

Like I said I am *too* good.


	5. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Ever since I was a boy, I've had the oddest dreams and sometimes the most frightening nightmares. 

It was quite bewildering – I used to wake up in the night screaming at times – the little that I remembered making me wish I hadn't. Those dreams were the ones my parents knew about – the ones I shared – that I couldn't help but share. My father postulated that it was some sort of link to my mother and her sometimes prophetic and horrific nightmares, an after effect from having a Slayer as a mother and a Watcher as a father. 

Mother just believed that it was something I was picking up subconsciously – not anything to do with her status as a Slayer at all. Something from seeing her come in wounded at times, or the demonic remains or perhaps, my Aunt Willow's magic. I remember holding her tight, trying to sooth her that I was all right, that they didn't bother me so much. She still worries at times, much to my father's and my amusement that she `scarred me for life' as she puts it. 

What I never told them and I suppose I should have was about the other dreams. Dreams where my father now was not my father – but an acquaintance that barely tolerated my presence for the time that I worked with him. 

Where I was once my mother's Watcher and she despised me on sight – tormenting and belittling me with my Father, a man I had replaced, at her side. 

Where my father there was not the man who is my Father now, but was an austere man who locked me beneath the stairs as punishment for not doing well in my studies. Something that seems a ridiculous thought in reality since my true Father can barely stand to lock the door himself. A trauma from his past that he won't share with mother or myself no matter how often we ask. 

You would wonder how I managed – how these things didn't scare the wits out of a small child. 

Well as silly as it sounds, I had an angel named Cordelia or `Delia as I called her once when I was quite small. The funny thing is – she was often in my dreams as well. 

 

*** 

 

"Hey Wes," I look up and there she is. 

`Delia. 

She's beautiful with her dark hair and eyes. Not as beautiful as Faith, my Slayer, but near enough. She always comes when I'm frightened by my dreams. She calls them memories, but they can't be, I've had them forever and I'm only five. "What's up?" 

"A vampire... He's got me by the throat and my Slayer is there..." My trembling stops as her nose always wrinkles and makes her make a funny face the way it always does when I call Faith that, and I want to start to giggle but I know I shouldn't since I'd probably wake Mommy and Da. 

"Shhhh..." She pulls me close and strokes my hair. "Do you want me to explain this one to you or just sing you to sleep, sweetie?" 

"I want to know..." I answer. Anytime it includes Faith I need to know. Faith is my constant – she's always the same – she's always been my Slayer. In my dreams and here. Forever. So I need to know. 

There are some dreams she never wants to explain, most often it's the ones that I want to know about the most, this is one of them – she seems so sad. Cordelia sighs and then pulls me close. "The vampire's name is Angelus... Most of the time he had a soul and you used to be friends..." 

 

*** 

 

And so it went like that. 

An angel I never spoke of to my family. Dreams that were memories or memories that were dreams where my family wasn't my family at all that were never spoken of either. Secrets that were mine alone to keep. 

As I grew older, Cordelia stopped coming. I remember the one time I didn't see her at night – when she came to the fair. I knew then seeing her in bright daylight that she was going to say goodbye. 

I missed her horribly, but the dreams were nowhere near as vivid and happened less frequently. Fragments of half forgotten situations. Names and places. Faces, familiar yet strange. Demons and monsters and fears both internal and external that were foreign yet familiar. 

It was when I was ten and we were visiting my grandfather, Hank, for the first time ever that I found out about *him*. 

 

*** 

 

"Faith, couldn't you take me to Disneyland again?" I was bored. We'd been the other day, but it was cool and I wanted to go again. Mom, Aunt Dawn and my Granddad were working some `stuff' out with my Da playing mediator between them all. Faith had come with us to L.A. because she said there was something she'd promised she'd do a long time ago and it was time she did it. She'd been putting it off still. I could tell. I can always tell when my Slayer needs to do something she doesn't want to. I was counting on it to get her to agree to take me. 

Heck, she'd been helping me study the differences between Glorthdagon and Glorthmadon demons last night after we got home from the amusement park – so I knew she didn't want to do what she came to do. Da insisted I keep up my studies even though we're on vacation. He says it was my choice to become a Watcher, so if I am going to do it, I must put my best effort into it. I feel pretty lucky though, the few other Watcher's children – there's not many Watcher families left - I've met don't get to do anything like going to Disneyland or get taken to the local Airshows wherever we're living at the time. Da's even said he'll pay for me to take pilot lessons when I'm old enough if I keep my grades up and I still want to when the time comes. For the others everything is study, study, study. Of course they don't live with a Slayer for a mom and don't have a powerful Witch for an aunt. So they don't get the practical experience I do, but still Da's the best. He won't even send me away from home for schooling like most of them do... Though I think that might also be `cause mom would kill `im if he tried. 

"I'm heading back to Cleveland tomorrow, Watcher-mine..." Faith smiles at me and pulls me into a hug when she sees the pout appear on my face. The worst part about being the only son to the heads of the new Watcher's Council is we're always on the go, because we have the whole world to worry about, when I'd much rather be living in one place – preferably near my Slayer. "Don't get like that... Your mom and dad said you can come and stay with Willow and me for summer vacation – you can even patrol with me and some of my trainees." The only reason mom agreed to that is because summer is the slowest time for vampires and I'm a dead shot with a crossbow. "I really have to do this, Wes..." Faith's eyes clouded and I felt bad for being selfish. Instead of helping her to do the hard stuff like a Watcher should, I was trying to take advantage of her reluctance. 

"You don't have to do it alone, Faith." I take off my glasses and look at her. I've been trying to convince mom to let me get contacts but she says not until she's sure I'll take proper care of them. "I'm your Watcher." I say with determination. I know my mom and dad and maybe even Faith just call me that to be cute, but I mean it. If it wasn't for her, I probably wouldn't have bothered with being a Watcher, but Faith needs me – I can tell. "I'll come with you." 

I can see the indecision in her eyes, but I don't look away. Finally she speaks up, "Yah... I guess." Then she draws herself up and nods at me. "It's time you found out anyway..." I follow her out of the house and arch my eyebrow at her. There's a pretty old motorcycle parked in the driveway – and I know it wasn't there before – that she's heading for. It's kinda neat really, but it's awful old. I know dad makes sure the active Slayer- which now means whichever Slayer has guard on the Hellmouth - gets a salary and that's Faith – so I know she could afford something better. I musta been making some kind of face because she grins evilly. "First off, it took me forever to find the damn thing, so don't make faces at my bike. It's a classic." She tosses a helmet at me, that I catch instinctively. "Second, just be glad it's not pink." I watch as she pulls on her helmet and do the same with mine. Then she climbs on the bike, and offers her hand to me to help me get settled behind her. 

Suddenly every thing is speed and wind and it feels so cool. I cling tight to her waist and feel her nudge my knee slightly as we take a curve fast. I get what she wants and pretty soon we're moving as one, leaning into the curves as we speed down the freeway, darting through traffic towards whatever destination Faith has in mind. Eventually we stop and I miss it – the freedom, working with Faith sorta – it's almost more fun than Disneyland was. 

A flower shop. Weird. 

She comes out and hands me a big bundle of flowers wrapped in paper. "Hang on to that for me, Wes. We'll have to go slower until we get there." 

I cradle the flowers between her and I. Careful not to crush them. Before long we're outside a big cemetery, and she's sliding off the bike and helping me down. She takes the flowers back from me and we walk down the aisle of headstones. It's weird – being in a cemetery during the day – I mean I've been to a few, but generally at dusk or a little after, with my Aunt Willow or Uncle Xander there to guard me while mom and dad keep their hand in. Finally we stop in front of a fairly neglected grave, and I feel a wave of sadness wash over me, especially when I look up and see the look on Faith's face. She looks upset, sad, and angry – mainly with herself. After a moment she hands me back the flowers and kneels down, making a pile of the refuse that's gathered with her hands. I look around and see a trash barrel a ways off. I set the bundle of flowers aside and head over to it, carefully detaching the bag from the inside of the barrel and pulling it out. Luckily I'm tall for my age so it's not too hard. I come over and kneel down beside her, for the first time seeing tears flowing from my Slayer's eyes. She never cries, never ever, and I sit stunned for a moment, before I reach up and wrap my arms around her, holding her tight and rubbing her back. 

After a minute she lets me go and together we clear the junk away, tossing it into the garbage bag I nicked. I get up and get the flowers, bringing them to her in silence, when I notice the name on the headstone. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. My eyes widen and I look at her questioningly. She takes the flowers from my hands and pulls me into her lap. A moment or two of silence passes, and then her normally strong voice echoes through the emptiness, uncharacteristically soft and shaken. "Wesley was my second Watcher, third if you count your dad, and I treated him like shit. Actually, we all did..." 

 

*** 

 

We never did go to Disneyland that day. Instead we drove up the coast highway and back as fast as the bike would go. My mother nearly had apoplexy when she heard I'd been riding `bitch' with Faith, though Father seemed quietly amused. He was less amused when he heard that Faith had told me about Wesley. Apparently my Mother and Father and Faith have never quite seen eye to eye on the events at the end of his life. Mother and Father wanted me to understand their point of view – and I do. I just don't know if I agree with it entirely but they made what they felt was the best choices they could, and they obviously cared about him – after all Father admits that I was named for Wesley and another friend who died in LA. It wasn't until I heard her name that I began to put things together. Cordelia Chase. My middle name is Chase. My angel was Cordelia. 

That's when I realized that I wasn't me – I was he. 

It didn't happen right away, but I began to resent this other me. This person I had been. After all, as I saw it, very little of what I had was mine. Someone was trying to make up for his bad end by letting him be me. Faith wasn't my slayer, she was his. My mother and father only had me because the Powers that Be were giving him another chance. The good things that happened to me, not meant for me, but for him. 

At the age of twelve I ran away from home, determined not to live this perfect life someone had set up for him, but to be me – even if that meant it was a hard cold life I was to lead. I know now that the first two months I was away, were the scariest in my mother and father's lives. All the apocalypses they'd faced, all the demons they fought and their son running away was more frightening than all of that. Faith was desperately searching for me; my Aunt Willow did as much magic to find me, as she was able. My mother even asked for help from those she'd sworn never to speak to again – and her fear so clear that they set aside her mistreatment of them to look for me. 

In the end none of them found me – it was my Uncle Ethan – not that I knew him as that yet. He found me starving, living like a rat in the streets of London. He told me *I* had potential – took me in, taught me magic. While I was with him I lived as his son, Nicholas Rayne – I look more kin to him than I do to my own parents ironically enough. In fact, I still have that identity – kept separate from Wesley Chase Giles – a useful thing when we need information from circles that would never speak to a Watcher, but are always open to the magic wielding son of a powerful Chaos magician. 

What I never knew at that time was that on finding me, he immediately contacted my father to let him know I was all right. Mother demanded that he bring me home, but Uncle Ethan was cannier than that. He said I was my father's son and I needed to come home when I was ready to and not before. Asking them to trust him, promising to keep me out of harms way… Apparently my Mother nearly divorced my Father when he finally agreed, but told my Uncle he'd rip him limb for limb if he caught a whiff of dark magic on me when I came back. 

I realize now, looking back, that Uncle Ethan was true to his word. Though he taught me magic he focused on positive magic – telling me the spells were more difficult and would increase my skill – where the darker magics were more powerful, but easier to carry out and had a tendency to promote sloppy spell casting – if I wanted to be a truly powerful sorcerer I would hone my talent first then move on to other spells. He took a calculated risk as well, he let me decide between the two – though I suppose in a way that was what made me choose the white magic – because he wasn't trying to keep me from the darker magic. It made sense to someone who'd been training with swords and knives. First, you learn the skill, and then you wield the deadlier weapons. It was to his advantage that I was so disciplined. He also managed to keep up my Watcher training as well hidden as things that a Sorcerer needs to know – demonic tongues for conversing with clients, Latin for spells, demonology to identify and avoid certain problem species. One wonders if it's any coincidence that much of the same skill sets are required for both a Watcher and a Sorcerer. 

The only thing he didn't participate in was my workouts; he wasn't much for physical exertion. Never has been according to my Father. 

It would be over a year before I'd see any of my family again and when I did, I would have to choose which path I would follow. The one I was carving out for myself. Or the one the powers had created for me ... him. 

 

*** 

 

"I want you to stay with the car, Little Ripper..." Ethan fixes me with a glare and I just glare back. I don't fucking care if my curiosity gets me into trouble, I like to know what the hell is going on around me. 

"If you're going to call me that, why the fuck do you add `little' to it... At least then it wouldn't be so fuckin' stupid sounding." I cross my arms over my chest. 

A smirk crosses the Sorcerer's lips as he watches me. I shift uncomfortably, straightening my leather jacket and pulling down on the tight denims I'm wearing, it's like he's looking right through me or something. Like he's not quite seeing me. His eyes focus again and he sighs. "Language, Nicholas. I outgrew my vulgar phase some years ago. I don't call you Ripper, because you're not. Simple, yes?" Fuck I hate it when he gets cryptic. 

"Whatever old man... Why'd you bring me, if all I'm doing is staying in the car?" I push my bangs out of my face, they're almost getting past the length that even I can stand them at and revel at the fact that I don't have my glasses anymore to get in my way as I do. Ethan took me for laser surgery then accelerated the healing with a bit of magic – it's a trip not having the stupid things sliding down my nose. 

Ethan arches his brow at me. "Why else... You're trouble my boy... More than you're worth actually – so I'm selling you off to the demons I'm working for tonight. They need a sacrifice..." I grin at that. We always have this conversation. It's Ethan's way of telling me he cares. 

"Hope you haven't been telling them I'm pure or some other rot..." I push my hair back again and hold the older man's gaze defiantly. 

A low chuckle escapes his throat, "You're my son, boy. They're not stupid enough to fall for that line." 

"Alright, then." I nod and settle back in the driver's seat. I'm not old enough for my permit yet, but Ethan lets me drive the beamer anyway. 

I watch him walk off into the night, then kick my feet up onto the dash as I push the seat as far back as it will go and turn on some mood music. I could do with a joint, but Ethan doesn't let me smoke and drive. After a bit I switch off the channel – something is off – I can feel it. An odd twist in my stomach. 

I bring my feet down and root around in the backseat for the crossbow I keep there. I stuff a few extra bolts under my belt and slide my switchblade into my pocket. Patting my inner pockets to make certain the small bag of spell components and the pistol I keep there is in place, I slide out of the car and into the night, listening for the sounds of a struggle or Ethan's voice. Another fucking boneyard... Can't they do business elsewhere... A nightclub... Hell, a diner would be good. But it's always either a fuckin' boneyard, a damned crummy motel or a bloody warehouse. 

Suddenly I hear the sounds of a struggle and that twist in my stomach is back. I'm off at a dead run then, rounding a thicket of bushes and suddenly I see... 

FUCK. 

Ethan off to the side, while the demon hoists a girl... No, a woman, above his head. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck... I knew Ethan was on the other side of the game from Da and Mom, but fuck. Why this, why now... I move closer and my eyes widen. Not just any Slayer. 

MY FUCKING SLAYER. 

Faith. 

She must have heard the movement, because she glances in my direction, still kicking futilely at Ethan's business associate. At first there's no recognition then her eyes widen and she chokes out. "Wesley." 

Ethan's gaze slides to me and he looks at me questioningly. If I save her I lose this new life I'd made for myself. 

If I don't save her I lose something much dearer. My soul doesn't matter to me. It's never been mine to begin with. No the only thing that matters here is her. And she's what I would lose. 

In that instant it doesn't matter that I'm him. That even my soul isn't my own. All that matters is my Slayer. 

Faith. 

"Put my Slayer down you son of a bitch..." I grind out. It's a Nalossin. A sort of cousin to a Fyral, but more intelligent. Same fuckin' weakness though. 

It starts to laugh at me. "Your Slayer? You're the Sorcerer's whelp, not a Watcher." 

"That's where you'd be wrong, mate." I snarl back and let my silver tipped bolt fly. It hits its target, penetrating the beast's body and sticking deep in the thing's heart. In less than a moment, the demon is a melted puddle of slime that Faith has unceremoniously landed in. A split second later I am at her side, helping her to her feet. 

Our eyes meet. Only for a moment but god... I swear I can feel her inside my head. That's when I reconcile myself to my fate. If I can have that feeling – I don't give a fuck if I'm Wesley Chase Giles or Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. As long as I'm her Watcher. 

It's too soon though. Neither of us is ready, but it's a glimpse of things to come and it's enough for me. 

A moment later she's recovered enough to move. "You little shit; I'm going to kick your fucking ass for you when I'm feeling better." She's got a hard look in her eyes, but it's covering something more. Then I suddenly can read it, just like I used to... I hurt her by running. 

"Sorry, Faith." I say honestly. "I missed you." I may not have realized it before, but seeing her here like this, I realize I did. I really did. 

After a moment a smile crosses her lips as well. "I missed you too, Watcher-mine." She pauses as she looks at me, as though she's looking right into me for a moment, then her smile turns evil. "But I'm still going to kick your ass." 

 

*** 

 

Ethan, of course, disappeared into the night. Faith took me home then stood back and watched while I knocked on the door to our London town home. My Mother opened the door and for a moment, I thought I was going to catch holy hell. Then she smiled softly and pulled me into her arms without a word, nodding to Faith, then went off to the kitchen to get me a cup of tea. 

My Father was the next one to appear. He looked me over, ran his fingers through my mane of hair, arched his eyebrow at me and inquired politely if I was going to keep it like that. I remember rather crudely asking him what it mattered to him for. I was a bit unnerved by the fact that they didn't seem to want to scream at me or take me to task for being the heartless little bastard I knew I was. Father simply shook his head and said it didn't, he was just happy to have me home. Faith, as I remember, was the one who snorted and told me point blank that I looked like a girl. 

The next day she and I took a ride on the bike to the barbershop. 

It wasn't until I was home for a while that I'd noticed how much my Mother and Father had aged in the time I'd been gone. Probably more so than they would have had I not run. As badly as I felt about hurting Faith, I think this was the first time I actually felt a guilt that I'll never quite be rid of. Father was more obvious than Mother. He was older than her by a good bit of course. His hair was more white than any other color now, and his fingers that had been cruelly broken by Angelus had begun to gnarl, the abused joints increasing in size with the arthritis that had begun to set in. 

Mother, on the other hand, the changes in her were less noticeable but perhaps more disturbing when you did notice. Her Slayer strength had finally begun to give way to age. A body was not meant to house that kind of power indefinitely – in the end a Slayer is still a human woman. She was only nearing forty, but at times she would drop things or her hands would shake. She put on a brave face, but we could all tell it bothered her. 

The Council doctors assured her that it would pass in time, as her body adjusted. Her healing remained, her heightened senses all remained the same but the preternatural quickness and strength that allowed the Slayer to fight was all but gone. 

No one else would have known it except for me, but my Mother wasn't the only one who was having difficulty adjusting to this turn of events. I could tell when my Slayer looked at my Mother that she was seeing herself in a time period of a few months. Perhaps years if she were lucky and my disappearance had affected Mother more than we suspected – or if one of the many traumas my mother had endured was the cause of this happening so soon. The truth of it was it didn't matter when it happened – the one thing Faith counted on was that she was the Slayer and eventually she wouldn't be. 

Some time later, Father and I actually sat down and discussed what would happen now. With the look I saw in Faith's eyes, I was more determined than ever to be a Watcher. The Council, while technically ruled by my Father, was less than enthusiastic about taking me back however. There were rumblings that the Giles line was tainted – as evidenced by our wild behavior and our magical abilities. Something that seemed to amuse Father to no end. That was when Father and Mother confessed about their own episodes of youthful rebellion and running away – and evidenced the opinion that any question of my parentage was put to rest by my early bid at avoiding my destiny even though it seemed to confuse my Father since I had always been given the choice. Of course, what he couldn't know and what I would never tell him was that my destiny was so much more complicated than just the simple onus of being a Watcher. Father detailed for me his own descent into magic during his rebellion - one much more dangerous than my own which made a certain amount of sense given that I was barely a teen when I ran and he was already a young adult. What surprised me most was to hear that Ethan was actually my Father's friend from that time in his life and had actually called my parents as soon as he had found me. I was more than a little hurt by it – that he'd told my parents, that I hadn't been as free as I had thought. Of course, eventually I realized that Ethan's friendship to me wasn't lessened by that, but strengthened. I meant something to him. Ethan wouldn't have cared a whit about Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, but he cared about Wesley Chase Giles – his old friend's son. It had nothing to do with my former life. It was solely mine and I forgave him for lying to me almost immediately. 

Of course, there was only one thing for the Council. I would have to prove myself as my Father had done before me. I settled down to it, taking and passing my A-Levels early and easily, in spite of not attending school for over a year, which gained me admittance to Oxford at barely sixteen. That was in actuality the easiest part; the harder part was the interview I had to face in order to be admitted to the Watcher's program. 

 

*** 

 

Da had warned me that I would have to face one of the Council old guard for my interview, but nothing could have prepared me for the face I beheld across the table from me. 

A face that had haunted my dreams and nightmares – so much older now – but the eyes were the same. In spite of the papery skin and white hair, those same eyes. Cold, disapproving, telling me I would fail before I even began. Without knowing why, I could feel myself begin to tremble internally. No one from my dreams had ever affected me so much when I met them in person. 

"So you are Rupert Giles' son from his Slayer?" His tone of voice told me exactly what he thought of that. An aberration that created an abomination – me. 

I draw myself up, though I am shaken – it is as though he'd made up his mind about me before I could even appear. "Yes, sir." Even to me my voice sounds hesitant, tremulous. 

"Hmmm," I can see him page through my transcripts. "I suppose your grades are adequate." Something in the tone of his voice triggers it. A flash of memory, this man; though younger; looking at my paper. A report I'd done for grade school English, picking it apart for the inaccuracies even though I'd gotten a perfect grade on it. Inaccuracies that no one but a Watcher would know. 

"You're completely unsuitable, of course, you realize?" He looks up at me with cold eyes. "We only granted you this interview because it wouldn't do to upset the Chairman." 

Another memory – the voice on the phone, berating me for not being able to control my Slayers, pronouncing me unfit, leaving me alone in America to fend for myself. Then another, humiliating me in front of a young, beautiful, brown haired woman – one that caused an ache – a pain inside me unlike anything I had felt before. Another flash, this man threatening the same young woman, my anger steeling my soul as I pull the trigger. 

I am vaguely aware that he is continuing to go on about my many faults, all but expecting me to beg, to apologize, and to crumble before him. 

Instead another foreign thought comes to my mind. He doesn't recognize me – there's no shock – no wonder. Nothing. I know from my relatives and from Faith how shockingly like this man's dead son I look especially as I've grown older and while I am the only one that suspects the reason why, it occurs to me that this man's lack of reaction means only one thing. 

Even after dying, he couldn't spare a thought for his son. A failure to the end. 

*His* anger and mine merge suddenly and unexpectedly and while I'm still shaken, the perversity of my combined Giles and Summers nature is only angered further by my reaction. 

"You do realize, Sir that I don't actually give a flying fuck in a windstorm what you and the few remaining esteemed members of the original Council think?" I comment, a small self-satisfied grin crossing my face as I look down on him. An arrogant quirk to my lips – a left over from my time with Ethan as I see him shift under the cool blue of my stare. "A small minded group of old bastards who care more for their own power than for the fate of the world. More about being in control of every detail than actually dealing with the needs of humanity." 

"You will never be a Watcher so long as I live..." He snarls at me, raising himself up and clenching the edge of the tribunal table. 

My eyebrow arches and I size him up with a predator's look causing him to retreat slightly. While my other self may have had feelings for this old has-been, I certainly don't. "I'm already a Watcher." I say coolly. "I have been from the day I was born. I've always been a Watcher and I will always be a Watcher – no matter what you or the other bastards who run this place say – with all due respect to my Father." 

With a final disdainful look at him and a shake of my head, I turn and walk from the room. I had finally laid a very old demon to rest. 

 

*** 

 

My Father was ready to shoot me for my actions. Even though he agreed with me, and I think was secretly proud. Mother simply applauded me. It looked like I would never be a Watcher, in name anyway, in this lifetime. It didn't matter to me – they might be able to take the title from me, but they couldn't do prevent me from being what I was. 

Of course, the old Councilmen hadn't counted on one factor. My Slayer. 

Faith had trained most of the new Slayers, and those she hadn't trained – she knew. Each one of them held more loyalty to her than to the Council – even if many of the girls adored my Father. So every one, without exception, including my Mother – the Slayer Emeritus – flatly refused to heed any Council orders until I was admitted to the Watchers training program. Even some of the girl's assigned Watchers took up the cause, much to my surprise. 

The old guard insisted my Father take action, but in true Giles fashion he fixed them with a glare and repeated back to them, in a frighteningly flat tone, what they had told him about him having any involvement with my selection process – even though historically Watchers had been in charge of their own son's admittance throughout the Council's lifetime. 

In the end, the Council admitted me. They didn't make it easy on me, of course; in fact in many cases they made it harder for me than the others. In those instances, I simply returned the favor and made it hard on them as well. 

Towards the end of the four year period I was training, Faith finally relented and allowed Kennedy to take over guarding the Hellmouth, moving to England permanently to help train both Watchers and newly activated Slayers. That, as par for the course, led to a strain and jealousy between myself and the other Watcher trainees. 

Faith and I gravitated towards each other – actually discussing as partners what we found on the practice patrols we took the novices on – becoming Watcher and Slayer in reality. Our bond, already forged with friendship and familial ties, only grew stronger as we went out and actually worked together – even though technically I was supposed to be there learning from her with the others. 

 

*** 

 

Keeping my crossbow at ready, I keep my eyes trained on Faith and the other Slayers and attempt to tune out the somewhat snide voice of one of the other trainees. Predictably the annoying little sod doesn't know when to shut up, droning on and on about procedure and protocol until I quite frankly am wondering if I staked him, if Faith would help me cover it up as a training accident. 

"My grand uncle is making a call for going back to the old ways," the officious little snot looks over at me imperiously – good lord, if the little idiot isn't patrolling in tweed. "It's folly to involve one self too deeply with the Slayers. I mean look at yourself – you're unnaturally attached to our instructor and everyone knows soon she'll be going the same way as the Slayer Emeritus." 

At that I slowly turn and watch him impassively, "And what way exactly is that?" 

"Lived past her usefulness to fight for good – soon she'll be a liability and not an asset," the idiot says with a completely straight face, "Unfortunate, but will likely keep happening with the current state of affairs." 

My eyebrow finds my hairline, "You consider one of the girls living long enough to lose the curse of being chosen to be unfortunate?" 

"Slayers change, the Council remains." He quotes at me. 

"Look..." I look at him questioningly – he'd just been transferred into Faith's training group. 

"Wyndham-Pryce. Roger Wyndham-Pryce." A cousin, no doubt, chosen because there was no other direct line descendant – not to mention the obvious pandering to the old man. 

"Pryce," I continue, an unseen shudder going through me at calling him by that name, "You'll do well to remember these girls are not tools, they're young women – sometimes fiercely independent – who've never had the `benefit' of advanced training with a Watcher." 

"An unfortunate circumstance brought into existence by your family's unconscionable meddling." His imperious tone makes me turn and cast a glare colder than ice, piercing into him. 

"Saving the world is unconscionable meddling?" I comment dryly, arching an eyebrow. "I'll be certain to remember that..." 

He storms up so he is walking along side me and grabs my shoulder to turn me. "That's not what I meant and you know it, Giles." 

Slowly I stalk towards him, intent on driving him back against the tree, a certain amount of satisfaction sliding through me as I see his eyes widen and him begin to back away – the other trainees watching the scene before them with wide eyes. The emotionless mask I project when angry is unnerving to most people confronted by it and I can see that Pryce is strongly affected. "Actually no, I don't know it..." In the blink of an eye, my switchblade appears in my hand from the slip sheath I keep it in on my wrist, the sharp knife grazing his throat. "You'd do well to remember that my mother is one of those `unfortunate circumstances', as is my Slayer." 

To his credit, he doesn't immediately fold under the pressure of my gaze. "Faith is not your Slayer. She's flatly refused the assignment of any Watcher and I sincerely doubt..." 

A yell from where Faith had been leading the Slayers draws a curse from me as I turn on my heel and run in the direction of the scream. I can hear the footsteps of the other trainees trying to catch up, but I'm too focused on Faith and the Slayers to care. As they come into sight, I see Faith standing back to back with a bleach blonde man, while another dark man and a ... blue haired ... woman seem to be helping the younger slayers engage a large group of three eyed but basically human looking demons. 

Before I can identify the demons, the dark haired man turns and sees me at the edge of the clearing. As our eyes meet, his widen considerably and he begins to move towards me. Flashes of what I now recognize as memories from before flood my mind. Too much to process properly. Scenes of friendship. Scenes of heartache. Some I have seen before and some I haven't. Overall a name... no, two... come to mind. Just in time as I see one of the demons moving behind him. "Angel... Down!" I yell as I bring my crossbow up and let fly. I see him dive to the ground and the bolt pierces the demon's third eye causing the body to dissolve in a shower of light. Suddenly what these things are clicks and I yell, "Faith, Denarli Assassins – they're not really demons – magically altered humans – though they've been merged with a demon so..." 

"Skip the lecture, Wes..." She snarls back as she dodges the blade one of the assassins are wielding. "How to kill in ten words or less..." 

I realize she missed the last one's spectacular demise in helping the blonde man from avoiding a stake. "Anything rammed into their third eye will do..." 

"That's eight... You're doing pretty good, Watcher boy." She grins and slams her stake into her assassin opponent's eye and nods at the light show. "You heard my Watcher, ladies... Same weapon, different target." 

I had heard the other trainees bringing up the rear until her last comment. I turn slightly to see Roger and the others; standing there, weapons drawn but not moving anywhere near the battle. Whether out of jealousy or the `old ways' that Wyndham-Pryce was prattling on about, I don't know and I don't particularly care. "Bloody cowards," I growl then move into the fray, reloading my crossbow and nailing another assassin intent on taking down one of the other Slayers. 

Scanning the battle, a sudden movement draws my attention. I spin and before I can think, launch my switchblade through the air, it's razor sharp blade hitting it's mark – as the body of the assassin dissolves, the blue haired woman lands in a crouch, her neck released from it's deadly grasp. She reaches out and picks up my blade, turning to face me. "Rescuing me was unnecessary..." 

It's almost as if I phase out of this time, out of this reality as I am again flooded by memories that I have not lived – at least not in this life. This creature's – I can no longer think of her as a woman as mind begins to process what I am experiencing – face, a visage stolen from that beautiful young woman I have seen before triggering another maelstrom of invading images. 

Voices and faces pouring into his mind. Fred. Gunn. Lilah. Cordelia. Angel. Spike. Illyria. Buffy. Giles. Willow. Xander. Faith. 

*You're a good man, Wesley* 

* Funny thing about black and white - you mix it together and you get grey. And it doesn't matter how much white you put in - you're never gonna get anything but grey.* 

*If you had been a better Watcher.* 

*You still got your ticket back to the mother country?* 

*Gallant to the end. But I knew what I signed up for.* 

* It does seem like you've given in to the grumpy side of the Force.* 

* This is grief? I'm watching human grief? It's like offal in my mouth.* 

* You warning me? What happened, Wes? - Did you suddenly grow a pair? Well, that's it, isn't it? I mean, that's the whole root of your inferiority complex. Well, good news, Wes, old boy! You don't really have an inferiority complex. You're just simply – inferior.* 

* Interesting look for you. Motorcycle? Watcher's Council trying out a new image?* 

* I was just joking, Mr. Grouchy Pants. When was the last time you had a dating base?* 

* Right. Like letting Lilah suck Lorne's brain. Or here's an oldie but a goody… Faith. Good job being her Watcher. She turned out to be a peach.* 

*Never thought I'd live long enough to see you paying me a visit.* 

* I'm not scared. I'm not scared. I'm not scared. Please, Wesley, why can't I stay?* 

*You okay?* 

*Five by five.* 

And then suddenly it stops and he is here. Living side by side with me. I can feel his anger, his sorrow, his guilt, his everything. 

I could let it drive me mad. I could let his life overwhelm mine. 

But then what Cordelia had done would have been pointless. 

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce loved Winifred Burkle to the point of obsession but the fact was *I* didn't. I wasn't the man I once was no matter what the memories might have indicated, while Fred's soul had been destroyed, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce's soul had been redeemed. Remade by the love of his family, by the gift one of his best friend's in the Universe had given him. It was no more white than it had ever been, but darkness was expected, it gave strength and determination. Fire and ice. Everything was not shades of gray as Lilah Morgan had supposed, but full, vibrant and colorful. Chaotic and beautiful. 

Just as Connor chose his new life, his new memories, so I now choose mine... 

Wesley Chase Giles had his own life to live, his own loves to love and if Wesley Wyndham-Pryce wanted to share the ride, then he was more than welcome to ride `bitch'. A sidelong glance at my Slayer and a slight quirk to my lips as she smiled full force back at me and I knew without a doubt it would be a wild one. 

And one last demon to put to rest. 

"Wesley, my guide..." Illyria's brow furrows as she reaches out, surprised at my lack of reaction. I suppose in a choice between the blankness I display now and the subtle recoil from my former life she'd prefer the recoil. "You gave your word..." 

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong man," I look towards Faith, who is making her way over after checking with the other Slayers. 

"Come on Wes," Angel grins and claps my shoulder, "The Powers gave you another shot. Faith calling you her Watcher is a dead give away" Of anyone, except perhaps Faith, Angel is the person I would most likely let in on my secret, but I can't. To tell him would be to give that life power over me again. No, if Angel and I are to be friends again, it will be based on this life. 

"Sure, Headboy... Tell it to someone who hasn't done the back from the dead routine..." Spike drawls with a grin. 

"Headboy? Not hardly." I grin wickedly at Spike, my eyes taking on a glint as I gesture over my shoulder, pointing my thumb at Roger. "That would be that ponce - Wyndham-Pryce." 

I can see the confusion in their faces as I feel an arm slide around my shoulders drawing me close. Our connection is almost a physical presence and I know Angel can feel it from the confused expression on his face. I resist the urge to pull her closer – while I will sooner rather than later this isn't the right moment. 

"Not Wesley," Faith smiles at me affectionately. "At least not the one you all are thinking of. Remember when Buffy finally came down off her high horse to ask for your help?" 

"To help find her whelp?" Spike's eyes widen. "This is her whelp? Was she screwing Headboy on the side too?" 

Suddenly I knock him over and have a stake I slipped from Faith's waistband at his heart. "Tired of your life, Vampire?" I snarl. "Just remember that's my mother you're speaking of..." 

"I'd be careful... He may look like Watcher boy from the bad ol' days in the `Dale but he's more Ripper than Wussley..." Faith's tone is affectionate on all counts. She reaches down and eases me up, "Spike's an ass, Wes. It's one of his more redeeming qualities... But it ends up with him writing cheques his ass can't cash. He's got a soul... Try to play nice." 

We glower at each other for a few minutes, before Spike grins and nods at me. "Not bad kid... Powers that be must `ave been wanting to play with the Watcher and the Slayer's minds, eh, Peaches?" 

Angel just watches silently before he finally speaks up. "Something like that." 

A slight smirk crosses my face, before I finally speak up again, looking at the three of them with an exasperated look on my face. "So may I enquire exactly what the three of you did to get no less than a dozen Denarli Assassins trying to kill you...?" 

The trio looks from one to another, and then the two vampires with amused grins on their faces, the elder goddess's face a mask of indifference as it normally is speak up. "Wolfram and Hart." Their voices string together in an almost sing song like chorus. 

My eyebrow arches inquiringly and Angel shakes his head, wrapping one arm over my shoulder. "Time to give you a little history lesson and bring you up to speed, Wes." At that moment I know that whatever his suspicions are, Angel will allow me my secrets and wants my friendship no matter what form it comes in. 

`You see old man, you were loved, no matter what you thought,' I think for the benefit of my old self. 

 

*** 

 

My parents were decidedly unpleased to find that I was associating with Spike, Angel and Illyria – though associating was decidedly too strong a term for what I did with Illyria. Angel soon decided to take up the mantel of an older brother for me, something I enjoyed quite frankly. Spike became, amazingly enough, my best friend other than Faith. We drank, played pool, darts and terrorized the rest of the Watcher recruits together. The Council didn't quite know what to make of their unrepentant rogue. 

The Council allowed me to graduate from the program but, even still, with a surplus of Slayers to be had – I wasn't assigned one. Roger Wyndham-Pryce, the elder, was correct – I was never a Watcher while he lived. He died a week before my graduation. In deference to the man I had once been, I attended the funeral – something my Father, who'd been in attendance because of his position as Chairman was clearly astounded at. I even left a bundle of flowers on the grave. An act of sheer sentimentalism that would have annoyed the elder Roger Wyndham-Pryce. 

After graduation, I made a point of taking aside the Slayer that the ponce was assigned and told her that if she needed help to contact Faith and we would come. Then I took him aside and made it very clear to him exactly what I would do to him if something happened to his Slayer that I suspected happened due to an action or inaction of his. Faith, Spike and Angel knew precisely what I was up to and made certain the little bastard knew they would be more than willing to help. Wyndham-Pryce was terrified of my vampire friends and I'm quite certain his immaculate suit came away far less immaculate from that encounter. 

In fact, I rather liked the work the Council found for me – it suited me well. My Father had probably had a hand in it, but soon all the upper Councilmen came to me with their little problems. Things they didn't want to dirty their hands on or felt was beneath their dignity. And it amused me to no end that the Council knew it was tacitly hiring two Vampires and a demon Goddess whenever I advised them I'd need back up. Even Father had to smirk, when he saw the look on the other Inner Councilmen's face on seeing Spike strolling into the Council building with me like he owned the place. Of course, the upside to this for my Father was that I would advise him on whatever nefarious dealings the other Councilmen brought to me. Mother worried that I might cross the line at times, but that was to change very quickly. 

While the Council withheld actually assigning Faith to me, it didn't take long for her to join my little band of rebels. Her strength hadn't failed her yet, and she was tired of the constant day-to-day grind of training Slayers. She and my Mother went out drinking one night and came home to my Father to announce that Mother was coming out a retirement to take over Faith's position and Faith was joining me on the Council's covert ops group. Mother was quite certain that if anyone could prevent me from crossing the line, it was Faith. There was a certain irony in my Mother's certainty – but over all she was right, Faith was the one person who I would listen to without fail. Father put on a great show of disapproving, but there was a twinkle in his eye that belied his pleasure that my Mother had found a new focus now that the tremors had ceased and I was officially out of the nest. In all honesty, I think he was relieved that Mother had also found the perfect foil to me giving into my darker nature completely as well. 

Working together had driven Faith and I closer, but she seemed determined to hold me at arms length. A frustrating prospect, when every instinct I had was screaming at me that she was mine. It had been twenty odd years in coming, but I was finally the Watcher – the man – she needed. Now the trick was getting her to acknowledge that simple fact. 

 

*** 

 

"You mate," Spike slurred as he took another shot of whiskey, "are love's bitch..." 

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," I didn't look at the vampire, instead concentrating on dropping my shot of whiskey glass and all into my pint of beer. 

"A boilermaker, Wes?" Angel shook his head. "You're going to get pissed and then Faith is going to kick the crap outta me, then she'll tell your mother and she'll kick the crap outta me." 

"I rather thought that was the point..." I retort as I drain my beer and whiskey then slam the glass down on our table. 

"What? Getting pissed or getting me beaten?" Angel grumbles as he takes another shot. 

"The point is always getting you beaten, Peaches..." Spike smirks, "But in this case keep up with the program – we're discussing `ow wonder Watcher `ere is love's bitch and `ow `e's in denial." 

"I'm not in denial and I'm not love's bitch as you so colourfully put it..." I raise my hand, signaling the bartender for another round. 

"My round," Angel holds up a twenty pound note which the barmaid snatches from his hand as she leaves our drinks. "Face it, Wes... Spike and I have both been where you are." 

"And where precisely would that be?" I interrupt him as I take my shot and go to drop it into my beer again, only to have Angel's large hand block the way. 

"In love. With a Slayer." Angel says evenly, his dark gaze holding mine. 

"Ah, you see that's where your mistake is." I reply evenly. 

"Don't even try to tell us, you're not `ung up on Faith, mate... Vampire brains don't go soft over time like human ones do." Spike took another drink of his whiskey and gave me a pointed stare. 

"No, but if they were soft to begin with there's really nothing that can be done is there?" I comment as I push Angel's hand off my glass, drop in my shot and chug it back. "I am not going to deny that I'm in love with Faith, but neither am I love's bitch." 

"So then why are you here drinking with us and not at her flat doing something much less self destructive?" Angel asked with a resigned tone of voice. I certainly wasn't making it easy for him to get out of the beating that he seemed to think would come from me drinking. 

"Perhaps I like drinking with you two," I say as the waitress drops another beer and whiskey in front of me without asking. To sooth Angel's furrowed brow I don't immediately go to drop my shot into the amber beer. "All right that's completely unlikely... So I suppose I'm trying to plan my next assault." 

"Right, by getting completely shit faced... I get it, you breathe on `er, she falls unconscious from the fumes and you `ave your way with `er." Spike isn't even trying to be subtle about the sarcasm anymore. "Absolutely a brill plan, mate." 

Angel starts giggling at Spike's commentary, then Spike joins in until I can't help myself either. Giggling like a madman along with them. "All right, so I'm not thinking clearly, but I'm not love's bitch either." 

"Do you want my advice, Wes?" I can feel Angel's dark eyes on me as I sigh and pick up my shot. 

"Because you've had such a successful love life so far?" I look up at my vampire friend with a completely straight face, ignoring Spike as he nearly falls out of his chair. "No, not particularly, but why do I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway." 

Angel continues on as though he hasn't heard my insults. "Talk to her, Wes. Even if she doesn't want to listen. Start talking and say something to catch her attention, to make her listen... Faith is just scared. She's always been running scared. She's not running anymore, but she's still scared." 

Taking a deep breath, I nod in answer. "I know, Angel. I know." I drop my shot into my glass and chug it back. 

"'ow the hell are you doing that, mate?" Spike glares up at me as I stand up, still completely steady. 

I smirk, "Sobriety spell... I just like to watch Angel get shit faced and make an ass of himself but unless I'm drinking he never cuts loose." I can hear Spike's raucous laughter and Angel's grunt of indignation as I saunter out of the bar. As I get outside, I picture Faith's apartment in my mind and chant a spell beneath my breath, feeling the thrill as the magic courses through my body. The supernatural nature of my Mother seems to have enhanced the magical ability I inherited from my Father – because I'm a powerful sorcerer in my own right without giving into the temptation of the darker magics. Of course, that's not to say I'm not tempted – I've just never given in. 

The magic engulfs me and suddenly the scene around me changes. I can smell her scent; hear the slight sounds of her breathing – feeling her presence. Silently I move through the comforting darkness of her apartment, my feet carrying me to the doorway of her bedroom. For the longest time I stand there, just watching her sleep, one hand braced against the doorframe as though to keep me from loosing control. 

An eternity or no time at all passes before I hear her soft voice. "What are you doing here, Wes?" 

"Watching you sleep," I answer equally as quietly – my expression carefully neutral, "I let myself in." 

"Funny, I don't remember giving you a key." She sits up and blinks at me with sleep filled eyes, pushing her hair out of her face. "I should kick your ass for you, Watcher." 

There is no pretense for the moment; she knows I'm not here because of something for the Council. The silence stretches as Angel's voice echoes in my mind. "If you like..." I finally answer as I cross to her bed and settle down on the end of it watching her, my eyes searching hers for what I need to know. 

"We can't do this, Wesley..." Faith looks away suddenly, a cascade of dark brown silk covering her eyes. 

I slide forward on the bed, catching her chin and tipping her head up gently so I can see her eyes. "Too late for that I'm afraid." 

Jerking her head away, Faith rolls from the bed, her fists clenched by her sides, her eyes dark and shuttered. "Stupid kid..." She hisses at me. A good offense is still Faith's defense of choice. "You're screwed if you think this is going anywhere other than where it is now." 

"Running again, Faith?" I look up at her impassively. "I thought you'd gotten past that particular habit of yours." 

There must be something in the look I give her because she backs away from the bed, but never takes her eyes from me. "Wesley?" 

"I love you, Faith." I answer softly. 

She shakes her head violently and wraps her arms around herself. "You can't..." 

"I do..." I counter as I stand up from the bed, taking hold of her arms and pulling them away from her body. Her head snaps up as I reach out with one hand and push some silver shot strands of her hair behind her ear. 

"Who are you?" It's then that I realize what she's seen, but doesn't recognize. Or perhaps she doesn't want to recognize. 

"You know who I am, Faith. You've always known – somewhere inside I think." Settling back on the bed, I look up at her unblinkingly and hold out my hand to her. 

"Wesley?" She asks again, more than a little trepidation in her gaze. 

"Yes... In some form anyway." I'm not entirely certain if this is exactly what Angel had in mind when he told me to get her attention. My stomach rolls with the fear of her rejecting me. Memories of being rejected in my former life pushing their way into my consciousness and I close my eyes against them. 

Those fears must be evident in my face because suddenly I feel her hand in mine and the bed shifts slightly as she settles down beside me. I open my eyes and her face is incredulous, but my fear of her rejection passes. "How?" 

"Cordelia, I think. I'm not entirely certain." I turn to face her on the bed, pulling her hand into my lap, and running my fingers against her palm. 

Faith trembles slightly at my touch, but doesn't try to pull her hand away. "You can't love me... Not after what I did to you." 

Once again I catch her chin with my hand and hold her gaze with my eyes. "I am not Wesley Wyndham-Pryce." 

A scowl cloaks her lovely features and she pulls her hand back. "Quit playing games, Wes. Either you are or you're not." 

For a moment I stay silent, simply holding her gaze impassively. "Since you have no frame of reference, how can you judge?" 

The room falls silent again, and then Faith begins to laugh. "Ok, you convinced me – that was so you at your snooty, stuffy worst." She blinks. "You love me? I thought you had it bad for the twig or the evil lawyer bitch... Were you secretly into being abused?" A smirk curls her lips. 

I shake my head and start to laugh. "Actually *I* love you... Who I am now – not who I was then. Though in spite of what you may think I don't think I hated you then either." Closing my eyes, I gather myself, not allowing myself to fall into the trap of looking to closely at my other memories. "But that makes no difference in the present. I love you, Faith." 

"So you're saying you're both, but you're living this life fresh – not letting what happened before influence you?" Her head cocks to the side as she thinks this through. 

I smile at her perceptiveness, "Not entirely. I'm trying to only allow myself to learn from his mistakes... I don't think of myself as Wesley Wyndham-Pryce anymore, Faith. I'm Wesley Chase Giles. I acknowledge that he is and will always be a part of me, but I'm not him any longer." 

Slowly she begins to nod her head, and then a grin crosses her lips. "So how the hell did you get to be so special that you got a brand new start? Guess I shoulda been nicer to the prom queen, huh?" 

 

"Perhaps, but look at it this way – you've managed to make something of your life the first time through, in spite of your mistakes. I had to start over entirely..." I shrug a bit self-consciously. 

This time it's her hand on my chin, making me look at her. "You made mistakes, Wes, but you saved me – I wouldn't be here now if it hadn't been for what you did before." 

I grimace a bit, and she inclines her head. "Sorry, Wes... I guess for me now that I know – you're just you. No matter what you call yourself. If it makes it easier to deal, then that's great – but other than the fact you picked up some weird ass shit from Buffy and Giles, you're still you, you know?" 

"Strangely enough, I do." I take her hand again, needing to touch her. "You saved yourself, Faith. All..." I pause for a moment as indecision reigns for a moment. "I did was..." I stop – finding it too difficult to contemplate what I did, former life notwithstanding, in the face of my feelings for her now. 

"...Give me the chance to prove that I could put someone else's well being ahead of myself." She says quietly. "To prove to everyone, mainly myself, that I'd changed. You pushed me, tested my limits and made me believe I was strong enough to go it alone. Even if that wasn't what you intended, it's what you did." A wicked grin crosses her face, "Say anything like that to me again, though, and your ass is in a sling." 

We sit in silence in the dark of her bedroom, not saying anything for the longest time. Then Faith breaks the detente. "So you're in love with me, huh? You know... I'm way too old for you. I mean, okay, if you were still in your first life I could see it maybe, but you and me now... I'm only a year younger than your mother." 

"I'm not sure if you realized or not, but my father is a year older than my grandfather." I arch my eyebrow at her challengingly. 

"Does seem like a stupid argument considering who your parents are, huh?" Faith smirks slightly, then her head drops. "Wes... I just don't want to do this and have you realize this is a mistake... You have a second chance at life." She looks up at me from behind the curtain of her hair looking more vulnerable than she has ever looked before. "If I give in and love you, you'll kill me if you change your mind." 

"I remember helping you..." I shake my head slightly at the oddity of having helped to clean my own grave and she nods, knowing instinctively what I am referring to. "You cried Faith. I don't ever remember seeing you cry before that – this life or last." I move closer, "You cried for me, Faith... You're the only one that did as far as I know." The line between this life and my last blur with her – an unsettling feeling that I only experience with Faith, probably because she is my constant. 

Her dark eyes are wide as she watches me nervously, anticipating what I will do next. I lean close to her slowly, giving her a last chance to retreat if she wants. Instead in true Faith fashion, she grabs hold of me with both hands, pulling me to her, kissing me ruthlessly, and claiming my mouth as her territory. Suddenly that same awareness is back, I can feel her inside my mind, a part of me coming alive as our bond is affirmed, so much stronger than before because of our instinctual acceptance of it this time. 

She pulls back for a moment, touching her stomach. "You're back..." Her eyes are wide with wonder. "That ... It's alive in me again. It's really you..." 

Without saying anything more, I claim her as she claimed me, my fingers winding in her hair, holding her tight and pulling her against me to possess her lips. We collapse back to the bed, while she pulls at my clothing, pushing it away, tearing at it in the rush to feel skin against skin. 

Suddenly she's laughing as I pull away her t-shirt, bearing her breasts to me as bring my mouth down to them, and nipping the soft flesh. "Not precisely the reaction I'd hope for..." I look at her bemused, "What exactly is striking you as so amusing?" 

"Not you..." She gasps past her giggles. "Told your parents I was waiting for you to grow up because we'd both be at our peak... They're going to think I was serious..." 

I shake my head and claim her lips again, swallowing her laughter and distracting her with my kisses. "I would really rather not talk about my parents while I'm trying to ravish you, thank you very much..." I growl as I push the boxers she was sleeping in off her legs. 

"Distract me then..." Faith's eyes flash challengingly as she drags her callused palms up my chest, teasing my skin and creating a heat inside my body. 

A feral grin crosses my face as I move to meet Faith's challenge, pinning her with my weight and silencing her by moving my lips over hers, penetrating her soft mouth with my tongue. She arches beneath me, her arms curling around my neck as her fingers thread into my hair. We rub against each other, our hot flesh bucking and undulating against one another. Hands caressing and teasing, my thumbs teasing her nipples to hard points before bringing my mouth down on them, suckling hard then swirling my tongue around the sensitive nubs. 

Her movements are almost too frantic to allow me to mount her, so I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head, using my weight once again – this time to still her. There is no way I could hold her if she wasn't willing, but if I wasn't certain before the heavy lidded gaze she turns on me now, her eyes darker than a starless night with passion causes a surge inside me. I press my knee between her legs and with a slight growl of acceptance she brings her knees up, cradling me against the apex of her thighs. 

I rock against her, sliding my length against the lips of her sex, feeling her moist heat. The slick skin sliding against the sensitive flesh of my cock as she moans in approval, arching her body up to meet mine. I claim her lips again and our tongues begin to duel, mimicking the actions our bodies are rapidly moving towards. I lift my hips slightly, bringing the head of my cock to her opening and pausing there, looking down into her eyes. "I love you, Faith." 

This time she doesn't ignore it, isn't disturbed by it. This time she smiles, "I love you too, Wesley." Then one of her legs curls around me and pulls me down so I slide inside of her. We move together, as one, our eyes never leaving each others. Even as our rhythm builds, pumping against one another harder. Our hands shift, so that instead of holding her wrists, our fingers are knitted together, palm to palm. 

Her muscles clench around me and I can see the flush in her cheeks as our pleasure builds together. The constrictive grip her body has on me and the expression on her face enflaming my need, my cock throbbing inside of her, my balls swollen and drawn up tight. She whimpers softly, panting slightly as she rolls her hips, then she gasps, her eyes widening. "Oh fuck, yes, Wes... God I love you." 

I can feel her sex constrict around me even tighter, almost painfully as her Slayer strength proves that it hasn't begun to fade yet. Her innermost muscles locking me inside her, as they rhythmically ripple around my cock, pulling me deeper inside until I can go no further. A split second later, the sensation is too much for me as well and I can feel the pressure release, a white hot burst of pleasure flowing through me as I howl her name, collapsing against her. 

We lay like that for the longest time, enjoying the silence and just being. I lift my head to look at her, my beautiful Slayer, and I see a need there – one my former self would have never associated with Faith, but it doesn't surprise me. I lift myself off of her, pressing my finger to her lips and shaking my head slightly at the look of distress that crosses her face. Taking up a tissue from the side of the bed, I gently clean up the wonderfully sticky mess we've made from her soft flesh, and then I tend to myself before I lie beside her and gently pull her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her. 

Silence once again engulfs us, but I hear a slight murmur of pleasure as Faith snuggles against my chest, her arms wrapping around me, her hot breath tickling my skin. Safe and protected in my embrace. 

 

*** 

 

"Wes, do you want to explain to me what the hell you're doing up this late when you should be snuggling with your Slayer wife who can make you regret marrying her?" Faith's playfully annoyed voice catches my attention and pulls me from my memories as I finish the final entry in the journal I've been writing. 

I set my pen aside and hold open my arms to her, smiling as she settles her slightly heavier and more rounded form on my lap and picks up the book curiously. "Typical Watcher, picking a book over his hot, horny wife..." She flips it open and arches a questioning eyebrow at me. "I better not find any details about our sex life in here – even your Father knew better than that." 

"My Father raised me to be a gentleman," I growl playfully and take the journal away from Faith, then gently arrange her so she's more comfortable on my lap. 

"Well, you, Mr. Gentleman Watcher, better get your ass to bed and remind your wife why at this stage in her life she let you knock her up... I'm seriously too old to be doing this, Slayer or not." Faith growls and nips at my ear gently. 

"Worried about the results of the amniocentesis?" I ask gently as I stroke her hair. Faith tends to be more aggressive when she's agitated. 

Grinning, she shakes her head, "Nah, I have a certain powerful Witch friend who tells me everything is just fine..." Her hands slip beneath the waistband of my pajama bottoms searching out my now half hard cock with her eager fingers. "See when a bad guy got away it used to make me hungry and horny... Now that I'm not allowed to be out slaying anymore and I'm all…" Her voice is breathless as she whispers in my ear, "...Hormonal. Let's just say, it's much, much worse." 

Chuckling, I stand, lifting her into my arms as she winds her arms around my neck. "Or from my perspective, much, much better..." I claim her lips in a passionate kiss and begin to move towards our bedroom. 

As I gently lay my wife onto our bed, I realize this probably isn't what Cordelia had in mind when she gave me my second chance – but I have to say, I think it turned out better than I could have ever hoped. 

 

***

Oh I've finally decided my future lies   
Beyond the yellow brick road... 


End file.
